


we must have died a long time ago

by secretfeanorian



Series: the worst things in life come free to us [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, yes Matt from 'it's too cold outside'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 11:49:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1687211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretfeanorian/pseuds/secretfeanorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The city is so noisy and Maglor wants to get away and Maglor wants to be alone.</p><p>(But does he really?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	we must have died a long time ago

_You learn to count the quiet winds, an hour with no unprompted tears, and not to count the deadly days as they fade into years. You learn to stand alone at last so brave and bold and strong and stout. You learn somehow to like the dark and even love the doubt. You learn to hold your life inside you and never let it out. You learn to live and die and then to live. You learn to live without. You learn to speak so calmly when your heart would like to scream and shout. You learn to stop and breathe and smile. You learn to live without.  
_

* * *

It’s raining. The light drizzle has been falling for a few hours now. Maglor has been sitting out in it for the entirety of the time it has been falling.  
  
He likes the rain. It’s calm and soothing. The noises of the city, however, are anything but. He spends a lot of time (probably too much time) trying to find peace in the rain even with the noises of the city in the backdrop. Even with all that time put in, however, the rain is never as soothing as it could and would be without the city surrounding him.  
  
Maglor decides he doesn’t like cities. The air is harder to breathe, and it’s impossible to get away from civilization whenever he gets the urge to just be completely alone.  
  
He gets that urge a lot. He doesn’t pretend that he doesn’t know why that is. Of course he knows. He may not have exact memories of the years he spent wandering, but it’s hard to forget the loneliness that was his only constant companion. Traveling companions were few and far between and their presence was incredibly rare.  
  
After so many years of being completely alone, the city is quite often suffocating, though at some times it’s more bearable than at others. At the times when it’s less bearable, he locks himself on his floor and shuts off all communication with the outside world until he can bear it again. Sometimes it takes only a matter of hours. Other times, the hours turn into days and the days turn into weeks and on one dreadful occasion, the weeks turned into months.  
  
He had never been that bad before and Maglor hopes it will never be that bad again, but he’s not too optimistic. He doesn’t have much optimism left and what optimism he does have, he saves for more likely situations. Or more desperate ones. Or ones where someone has to be the optimist and no one else seems willing to be that person. Mostly just the third one. He’s really only ever an optimist when someone needs him to be. Other than that, he’s a pretty depressing person to be around.  
  
He’s completely positive of that. His optimism has been used up and wasted. That makes him laugh. His sense of humor has gone south. That’s funny too. He knows exactly why he finds amusing the things he finds amusing. He’s done pretending he doesn’t. He doesn’t see why he should.  
  
The rain has stopped, but the wind has most certainly picked up. He shivers as the cold air blows fiercely against his bare arms. He wishes he hadn’t left his jacket back at the tower because now he has to go back and get it, and by the time he gets back and retrieves it, he won’t want to go back out again.  
  
He sighs, torn, but ultimately decides to stay out for a while longer. The wind does not cease, but Vasa peeks her head out from behind the clouds. Her rays warm Maglor’s chilled arms and he’s glad he hadn’t left when the thought occurred to him to do so. Even outside, he feels cooped up, but he feels less so than he would from the interior of a building.  
  
 _Outside in the city is the lesser of two evils in this case_ , he thinks and then adds on “most of the time, it’s the greater of the two” with a smirk that is probably from amusement. Probably. There’s a little bitterness in his eyes. But there’s always a little bitterness in his eyes, so it could be nothing.  
  
Vasa slips behind the clouds again, and her rays are dulled to the point where they no longer offer noticeable heat to Maglor’s arms, but the wind has died down the point where it too is unnoticeable, so Maglor doesn’t feel much (or more correctly, any) of a change.  
  
He stands and begins to walk. He has no idea where he is going, but that’s not really much of a bad thing. He just lets his feet carry him around the city. It’s nice to not have a planned destination or path sometimes. Most of the tie, Maglor carefully plans and thinks through his routes. Most of the times in his life when plans were not meticulously looked over again and again, those went disastrously wrong.  
  
Sometimes though, he feels the lack of any planned route at all is nice. He only ever rests at the two farthest ends of the picture though. Either there’s no plan at all or there’s one that has been thought though and over and checked half a dozen times at least. If he has a plan, it has to be watertight. He thinks this might be a bit of a problem, but he doesn’t care. Things don’t go wrong with his plans anymore and that’s what matters.  
  
He finds himself outside a small café and he doesn’t know why he goes inside, but whatever the reason may be, he finds himself inside. He sits at a table and shakes his head at the waitress who has begun to move towards that table.  
  
A man slides into the booth across from him, but Maglor doesn’t look up until more than a few minutes have passed. When he finally does glance up, the red-haired man he’d met…oh, how long ago was it? Matt, he remembers, but the name now seems to not fit him.  
  
Neither of the men say anything and then Matt smiles at Maglor and it’s Maedhros’ smile and he starts. He opens his mouth to say…something, but logic stops him. He’d started talking to Matt because he had Maedhros’ smile. _Don’t be silly_ , he scoffs at himself mentally and he wets his lips nervously.  
  
Matt’s eyes soften a little bit and he reaches across the table to touch Maglor’s hand. His eyes are Maedhros’ and Maglor shivers, then draws his hand back. He immediately feels guilty and tries to apologize. Matt accepts the apology, but not without making sure Maglor knows that there’s nothing to be sorry for.  
  
Maglor snorts before he can help it. He knows Matt means the action of pulling his hand away, but at that moment he can only think of all the things he’s done in his life that he should definitely be sorry for (and most of them, he is sorry for. Most of them).  
  
Matt’s face twists a little painfully, then he stands and grasps Maglor’s shoulder. Maglor doesn’t look up at him. His face twists a little more, but Maglor doesn’t see it. “Take care of yourself Cana,” he hears and he starts and looks up, but Matt has vanished. There is no weight on his shoulder and he suddenly feels so very alone. This is the solitude he has spent months searching for.  
  
And he hates it. It fills up his entire being and threatens to consume him and he’s suddenly terrified. He needs to get back to the tower. He shoots to his feet and almost runs out of the café. He doesn’t stop running until he’s a block away from the tower. Then his feet slow to a walk, but it’s still a desperate fast walk.  
  
He enters the tower and the shaking he’d only just realized was running through his body doesn’t stop until he almost runs into Steve, who takes one good look at him and pulls him into a fierce hug. Maglor almost collapses against Steve and the shaking comes back in full force.  
  
He’s not crying yet, but he can feel the tears welling up. He swallows and tries to control his trembling, but he can’t and he feels another pair of arms wrap around him. He takes a deep breath. The shaking hasn’t stopped and probably won’t stop for a while, but he no longer feels so incredibly alone. He takes another deep breath. He’s safe. _He’s safe._


End file.
